Perfect
by TheShippyQueen
Summary: Post S2, no spoilers, John is afraid he won't be a good father. Not much of a plot, me indulging myself and written as a challenge for LJ - LoveBelowStairs...and because I can't resist Baby!Fic!


_A/N: Written for the Battleships challenge on LJ –LoveBelowStairs, no spoilers and all usual disclaimers apply! xxx_

**Perfect**

John was sitting in the armchair, reading the paper whilst across the room of the little cottage sat Anna at the little table with her mum. They were talking and knitting together, their needles clacking together as they talked, both making an endless supply of booties, hats and cardigans.

John gave a soft shake of his head, wondering how much more a baby could possibly need, they seemed to already have a room full of clothes for their expected bundle and yet, Anna and her mother insisted they needed more.

"When the baby comes, you'll realise you can never have enough!" her mum had warned him, needles aimed ominously at him. "And, I intend that all my grandchildren will be finely dressed, I've not failed on that so far!"

Today the conversation was on the sex of the child, and though he tried not to look like he was listening to such idle female chat, he really couldn't help it.

"I'm telling you, Anna, it'll be a girl," her mum said firmly, needles moving like lightning. "You've had terrible morning sickness and your bump is all spread around your middle, a sure sign."

Anna laughed heartily, putting down her knitting and rubbing lovingly at her growing bump. "That's just an old wives' tale!"

"Don't talk nonsense, child!" her mother scolded. "There's truth in it, mark my words. Can't you feel that it's a girl?"

Anna frowned softly and gazed down at her stomach, stroking softly. "I don't know really."

"Well, do you think of it as a he or a she?"

"I don't know…we've been calling it baby," Anna answered casting a smile across at him.

"I knew you were going to be a girl, and I knew your brother would be a boy. Six times I was right!" her mother announced proudly. Anna's face fell a little and John knew she was a little hurt that she had no idea what sex her own baby was.

"It's all nonsense!" John announced, putting down his paper. "Sickness, shape of stomachs, the spinning of a wedding ring, it's all ridiculous! As long as the baby is healthy, we don't care!"

Mrs Smith looked a little miffed at being scolded by her son-in-law, but she said nothing, instead, continued to knit, Anna joining her, fingers slower as she thought whilst she knitted.

Picking up his paper, he began to read again, but somehow the words wouldn't register, his mind was now engaged in that constant niggling thought: He was to be a father.

Since Anna had told him, he'd desperately tried to push the thought away, to convince himself that he wasn't scared half to death at the thought of a crying, dependant human being living in his home. He'd tried (and failed) to convince himself that once the baby arrived he would know how to be a good father, but still the doubt and fear was there, he'd fail them, fail his wife and his child.

And it terrified him.

He could hear Anna and her mother talking, random words about feeding, the correct way to hold a baby, name choices…it was becoming a blur, a terrified blur.

Later that night, once her mother had gone, Anna came to him as he sat by the fire. She looked a little worried as she stood before him and he held out his arms to her. She sat herself onto his lap and curled up against him, her head resting against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, resting them against her stomach and softly kissed the side of her head.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

She paused, as if thinking whether to speak her thoughts or not and he squeezed her, encouraging her to tell him what was on her mind. "I just keep wondering if I'll be a good mother."

"Of course you will!" he said, pulling her closer. "What's made you say that?"

"My mum…she was so sure of how I should feel…that I should know whether our baby is a boy or a girl…and I don't." Anna admitted.

John laughed softly and kissed her head again, "Don't tell your mother I said this, but she's a fool! You are going to be a wonderful mother, our baby is very lucky, it doesn't matter whether it's a boy, a girl, or got two heads…you will be the most wonderful mother ever."

Anna smiled, turning her head to look at him, "Really?"

"Really!" he insisted with a grin. His smile faltered as his demons returned, niggling at his mind. "I on the other hand…"

"What?" her voice was concerned and she frowned at him.

He sighed, "You will be wonderful, I will just have to learn how to be a good father."

"John," Anna said firmly. "You will be the best father a child could ever wish for."

He shook his head with a laugh, "I doubt that!"

"It's true! John, I know you will be, so don't ever doubt it."

It was pointless arguing, he knew better than that, but though she was insistent, he couldn't fight off that niggling feeling that this would be something else he would fail at. As he fell asleep that night, his wife's kiss still lingering on his lips, her soft weight against him, he rubbed softly at her stomach and tried desperately to believe that he could be the father that innocent child needed.

The dreams started soon after.

First they were just blurry images shortly before waking, images of a crying child that couldn't be soothed, that cried every time he went near it. Then it became clearer, images of a child who grew ridiculously quickly and hated him, despised him and refused to acknowledge him as its father.

Then the dream child took on clearer features, a girl, she would cling to Anna and beg her to send John away, said he was awful and that she hated him.

In other dreams, the child was deformed, a punishment for his past crimes and for daring to be happy again. In one awful dream that had him waking up crying out, scaring poor Anna half to death, the child turned Anna against him, he watched her leave him, saying she couldn't live with a man who was hated by his own child.

Every dream was the same; he always failed Anna and their child.

After one particularly bad night, John was struggling to complete his tasks for Lord Grantham, fighting back yawns as he dressed his old friend and comrade. Lord Grantham could clearly tell and after a few awkward pauses where it seems as if he would speak, he finally spoke out.

"Is something wrong, Bates?"

John sighed, weariness and desperation forcing him to speak. "Did…did you ever wonder if you'd be a good father, m'lord?"

Lord Grantham, who had been looking at himself in the full-length mirror, turned around on the spot to face his valet. "My good man, is this what this is about? You're worried?"

John blushed a little and shifted awkwardly on the spot, "A little, m'lord."

Lord Grantham gave a laugh, though not out of malice. "Of course you're worried! Every man worth his salt is worried about becoming a father! Why, when Cora was expecting I couldn't eat for worry, I was sure I'd be a useless father, but once Mary was born, I realised that I could be a good father and would be…whether I have been, well that's for Mary to decide… and Edith and Sybil, too."

"I haven't slept well in months," John admitted, grateful that this conversation was actually happening, despite the subject, he had to speak to someone who would understand. "I keep having these dreams…"

"About a giant baby chasing you?" Lord Grantham asked.

Astounded, John looked up, confusion chasing across his face. "No…?"

"Oh, that's what I kept dreaming about when we were expecting Mary. Every night, a great giant baby, chasing me through the library trying to eat me!" Lord Grantham gave a hearty laugh in memory.

"Mine are perhaps a little more troubling than that," John said. "More dreams about the child hating me, about….letting everyone down."

Lord Grantham's face turned serious and he took a step closer to his old friend and spoke, his tone gentle, "Now that really is nonsense. You will be a good father, Bates, I'd put good money on it. You just have to be yourself."

"That's what I'm afraid of," John replied, his face set in grim determination.

"Bates, if I can do it, then you can," Lord Grantham said firmly.

John wished rather than believed him to be right.

Despite Lord Grantham's continuing support and advice, the dreams didn't stop and John was becoming more and more frantic and worried as Anna's time approached.

One night, the dream was particularly frightening, the child, now a five year old girl, would cry whenever he went near her, she would beg and plead with Anna to make him go away, said that she was afraid of her own father and that she hated him.

In his dream, Anna packed her bags and left him, taking their daughter with her, saying she couldn't stay with him, that their child was more important than he was.

Waking up in a cold sweat, he felt Anna's soothing hand upon his arm, stroking gently and asking him what was wrong.

"Our child will hate me," he gasped breathlessly, the terrible dream still so vivid in his mind. He turned into Anna's gentle embrace, terrified to let her go in case the dream came true. She would leave him, he knew it, one day she would leave him when she knew the truth, he was to be a terrible father, a failure.

"What?" Anna cried, wrapping her arms around him. "Where have you got that idea from?"

"I just know it, she'll hate me, I'll let you both down…I know I will."

Anna pulled back a little, cupping his hand lightly with both hands, forcing him to look at her. "John, why would our child hate you? You are going to be a wonderful father, the best any child could wish for…I know it with all my heart. This is just nonsense, a daft dream, you'll see, our baby will worship you."

"Do you really believe that? Knowing the man I once was?" he asked worriedly.

"Why do you insist on bringing up the past? You are not that man; I wouldn't have married you if you were. I love you and our baby will love you," Anna insisted, leaning in to kiss him softly.

"What if she doesn't? What if she hates me like I hated my father?"

Anna sighed and stroked his neck tenderly, "You keep calling the baby a 'she'," she noted.

"Do I?" he asked, taken aback by her sudden change of topic.

She grinned lovingly, "Yes, maybe you know our baby better than me."

He grinned back, "I blame your mother."

"John….he or she will love you. You're not your father, he was a different person, you said so yourself, the situation was so different when you were young. There is no similarity here."

"Really?" he asked, still uncertain. The past was a long time ago, but it still didn't change the fact that his father had been brutal, a man he hated with his very soul, a man who forced his own son onto a path of drunkenness.

Anna shifted in the bed, turning onto her back with some difficulty. He pulled back and gave her space, watching how her growing bump made any movement twice as hard. Finally settled she reached for his hand and pressed it to her stomach.

"I'll prove it," she said with a smile. "I'll prove our baby will love you. Say something."

"Say what?" he asked, a bemused frown contorting his face.

"Just say something, anything," she insisted.

"Anna…"

"Tell me you love me," she encouraged.

He gave a sigh, "I love you."

Anna frowned, her hand still holding his to her stomach. "Say a bit more."

"Anna, what on earth are you…"

Beneath his hand, he felt a sudden squirming sensation, a wriggling and the definite feeling of a limb, a hand or foot perhaps, pressing out against his hand. He stared at Anna, stunned for a moment and she laughed.

"See? I told you, she loves you! Whenever you talk, she gets all excited and moves about, she can hear you, she knows you're her daddy," Anna said, her smile wide and happy.

"Maybe she's telling me to go away?" he asked, though he was laughing too with Anna.

Beneath his hand the baby moved again, squirming and kicking out at the sound of his voice once more.

"No, she's just happy to hear your voice. That I do know!" Anna grinned.

John couldn't help but laugh, his Anna always knew how to make him see how foolish he could be, he still wasn't convinced, but at least for now, he could at least believe things would be fine. He moved towards his wife, leaning half over her, careful not to lie on her stomach, and lowered his mouth to hers for a long and lingering kiss.

Anna's hands moved up around his neck, pulling him down further towards her, deepening the kiss. He shifted a little, his own stomach resting lightly against Anna's and his hands began to slide slowly down her side, skimming her breast and moving around her waist, revelling in the sensation of her fuller figure beneath his hands.

Just as their kisses became more passionate and his hand began to tug lightly on her nightdress, pulling it upwards, Anna let out a gasp and sat upright, her hand flying to her stomach as he backed out of her way.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked worried and confused, reaching out for her with concern.

She gave a little laugh, "She may love you, but she's not happy about _that_!"

John laughed and lay down onto his back, exhaling deeply. "Well, bring on the day she's in her own cradle then!"

The labour pains started in the early hours of a Monday morning. Sleeping soundly, he hadn't heard Anna get out of bed; it was only when he turned over and reached for her, that he felt the cold area where she should be.

Lifting himself up onto his arms he squinted sleepily in the darkness and searched for some sign of Anna. As his eyes focussed, he saw a candle was lit and Anna was stood at the far side of the room, palms flat against the wall, her head bowed as she pressed her weight against the wall, her breathing heavy, emitting a soft groan as if in deep pain.

"Anna?" he asked, sitting upright, the sight of his wife quite clearly in pain disturbing him greatly.

She looked up, her face contorted in pain and she pushed herself upright, hand moving to support her back. "It's time, John," she groaned.

Swinging his legs out of bed, heart hammering, he studied her closely. "Are you sure?" He stood up and went to her, worry filling every vein as she reached for him. Her hands had barely rested on his shoulders when her whole face contorted and she let out a long, deep, guttural moan, her hands clinging to him, her body tensing, he was no midwife, but she was definitely in labour.

Holding her, panic tearing through his body, he waited for her to relax a little. "I'll get your mother," he whispered and kissed her gently on her damp forehead.

The midwife was sent for and came quickly; much to John's relief and Anna's mother joined her daughter, instructing John to remain downstairs and out of the way.

He tried to keep busy, tried hard to drown out the noises coming from upstairs, but it was difficult. He cleaned around, washed out cupboards, cleaned anything and everything, but still it wasn't enough. He tidied up the box of baby clothes, but they only scared him. Lifting out some tiny bonnets and a small vest that wasn't much bigger than his hand, he panicked, wondering how anything could be that small…he was sure he'd break the baby with his great clumsy hands.

Eventually he tried to read, but the words blurred every time he heard Anna cry out in pain, he stared at the same page for what seemed like hours, his panic growing. Something would go wrong…he could tell, he wasn't allowed to be happy…she would be taken from him, he would lose her and his punishment complete…it would all go wrong.

Anna's mother came downstairs at one point, looking tired and flustered, seeing him sat there, a panicked look on his face, she frowned and suggested he took a walk.

"I can't leave…what if…?" he asked.

Anna's mother sighed, taking pity on him. "She's fine, don't look so worried, Smith women are strong and she's doing a fine job, it won't be much longer now."

"But, she's well? It's all going well?" he pressed further.

"A few more hours yet, but it's all as it should be," Mrs Smith answered before heading into the kitchen for more water.

Anna's cries became more intense and seemed to last longer, but despite the torture, John reasoned that as long as he could hear her, he knew she was still there…still alive.

He heard the urges of the midwife, heard Anna's mother encouraging her daughter, heard Anna beg and plead for it to be over, heard her animalistic groans and finally, there was silence.

He held his breath, heart hammering painfully and then…a baby cried.

Exhaling sharply, tears sprang to his eyes as he heard that wonderful sound ringing out through the house, followed by the sound of Anna asking something, laughing, crying.

He was on his feet, desperate to go to them, but he knew better than to invade a birthing room, he would be strung up for such a heinous crime.

He paced back and forth, the baby's cries softly dying away as it was no doubt comforted in Anna's arms, he tried to imagine the scene, but he couldn't, instead he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually the bedroom door opened and the midwife came out first followed by Anna's mother. After the midwife was paid and left, John turned to his mother-in-law.

"A girl," she grinned. "A healthy little girl!"

All the tension evaporated from his body and he gasped in relief, "And she's well? The baby? And Anna?"

Anna's mother nodded, her eyes full of tears, "She's very well, she did such a good job…and the baby is the most beautiful I've ever seen."

"Can I see her?" he asked, desperate to be with his wife once more, to see for himself that she was well.

"Go on up, she's waiting for you," her mother said, still grinning and dabbing at her eyes.

He opened the door slowly, almost afraid of what he would see, in the daylight of the room he could see Anna sitting up, propped up in their bed with pillows. Her hair was damp still and tied back into a low plait and her face, although a little grey and tired looking, seemed to glow with something he'd never seen before.

She was in a clean nightgown and the room still had a lingering smell of birth about it, despite the open window. In her arms lay a small bundle, wrapped in a white blanket, a shot of dark hair just visible from where he was standing.

She looked up from gazing adoringly at the baby in her arms and he was almost bowled over by the look of love on her face, sheer love that seemed to spread out, filling the room and sucking him in.

"John!" she said, her voice soft, "We've been waiting for you, haven't we?" she addressed the little bundle in her arms.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, mesmerized by the sight before him. He thought he couldn't love Anna any more than he already did, but the sight of her with their child cradled in her arms, made his heart swell to bursting point.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving towards the bed and sitting carefully on the edge, afraid of upsetting them.

"We're fine," Anna smiled, turning back to the baby. She softly pulled the blanket back, allowing him his first proper view of their child. Dark hair framed a small, delicate face with a small little rosebud mouth. She was sleeping, content in her mother's arms and John felt himself fall instantly in love with her, his heart aching with love for this tiny baby. "What do you think?"

"Beautiful," he breathed, "just beautiful."

"She is, isn't she?" Anna sighed, her voice heavy with love and emotion.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, worried that she was hiding some ailment from him.

She looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears, "I'm fine," she soothed, "sore, but fine."

He leaned down and kissed her tenderly, she kissed him back deeply and he softly slid his arm around her. "I love you," he whispered lovingly.

She smiled and replied, "I love you too." Glancing back at their daughter, she shifted the small weight and asked, "Do you want to hold her?"

His heart pounded, but somehow he wasn't so afraid anymore. He nodded and after some awkward manoeuvring, he lifted the tiny baby out of his wife's arms and into his own. She seemed to fit so perfectly into the crook of his arm and though she squeaked and grunted a little at being moved, she didn't cry, instead, two big blue eyes gazed at him, studying him, the little mouth moving slightly, a small tongue softly visible as she explored her change of location.

His heart seemed to grow with love; he couldn't get over this beautiful creature lying in his arms. How had he managed to help make something so delightful and perfect?

"She looks like you," Anna said, her head resting against the pillows as she watched him hold their child.

John looked back down at his daughter and studied her. She may have his colouring, but she was all Anna. "No, she's got your mouth, your eyes, your ears," he answered, his finger trailing across the little face in exploration.

"No…she looks just like you," Anna insisted, her voice weary though her face still glowed.

John chuckled, "It's never wise to argue with your mummy," he said softly as the little eyes softly closed once more, content at being in his arms. "That's lesson number one."

He looked across at Anna to see she was now fast asleep, a happy smile still plastered across her tired face. He smiled warmly and shifted the baby in his arms carefully. "Looks like it's just you and me for now," he whispered, enjoying the sensation of her warm weight in his arms.

Lifting her up, he pressed a light kiss to her small forehead, a million promises running through his mind as he did so. "Just…give me a chance," he whispered, "Give me a chance to be a good father, I promise you I'll try. Just….don't give up on me…."

In his arms, she squeaked a little and moved, he shifted her again and kissed her once more. "I'll love you, that I do promise, I'll love you so much…I already do."

Later that night, whilst Anna rested, their baby in her cradle and Anna's mother knitting by the fire, John decided to take a walk to clear his mind and come to terms with his new role in life and the overwhelming love he felt for his daughter and wife.

His walk took him to the Abbey and as he entered the backdoor, he was pounced upon by seemingly all the female staff, all questioning him, female questions about birth weights and time. John laughed, deflecting each question as he made his way into the servants' hall.

They all joined him, Mrs Patmore providing tea, Mr Carson patting him on the back. He answered all the questions he could, enthusing about his daughter and her beauty.

"But, the one thing you haven't told us is, what's her name going to be?" Mrs Hughes asked.

Every female eye fell upon him and he grinned, (he seemed to be doing a lot of that today), "Molly," he replied, "Molly Anne Bates." A collective sigh emerged from the women at the name, a few murmurs at its prettiness. "And she's perfect," he added.


End file.
